


Midnight Memories

by Grand Buzz (quodpersortem)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Kid Fic, Love at First Sight, M/M, Writer Louis, harry has a daughter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:19:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2033418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/Grand%20Buzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson is the successful author of several children's books. Those books happen to be the favourites of Eve Styles, Harry’s six year old daughter. Never one to deny her anything, he takes her to a book signing where Louis will also be reading an excerpt from his new book</p><p>Of course, Harry doesn't expect to fall in love with the author whose books he reads every night--but that's <i>exactly</i> what happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Memories

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for the unoriginal title, but it just fits the story so well so I couldn't get myself to... I couldn't make it something different, haha. Also, it's very fluffy, it's even cheesy, and it's written for [ because of a shitty day (for both of us, although I feel much better after having written this). I hope you'll enjoy it!](http://thighlou.tumblr.com/)

“Come on, Eve,” Harry whispers as he opens the car door, grinning widely. “We’re almost there.”

She grins back at him, reaching for his hand and Harry takes it.

“Are you excited to meet him?”

“Yes!” she squeals, clutching the book tighter against her body with her free hand. “Do you know what he will look like, dad?”

“I’m pretty sure that picture on the back of your book is Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry smiles at her, something he’s told her at least five times before but she is far too excited to really take in the information.

Harry supposes that yes, it must be quite a lot for a six-year-old, finally meeting the author of the book he’s been reading her from since she was three.

The book signing is a bit of a happy coincidence, really, with Eve’s birthday coming up next week. Harry knows that Louis Tomlinson, writer of children’s books, usually targets a slightly older audience—the book that Eve is clutching, _Midnight Memories_ , happens to be one of the few that is specifically for younger children. They’ve copies of all the others at home as well, _Little Things_ , _Better Than Words_ and _Right Now_ , each of them equally dog-eared and stained, some of the pages tacked back in with tape.

Today he’ll be reading from his new book, _Through The Dark._

Eve’s told him that she can’t wait until she’s better at reading, so she’ll be able to read Tomlinson’s other books _before_ she is eight, meaning she’s been practising her spelling for weeks now. It’s enough to drive Harry insane and he hopes that this will quell her satisfaction. Otherwise, he might have to give in and start reading her stories about mischievous schoolchildren after all.

The bookstore that the singing takes place at is small and in downtown London. There are some more parents with children, slowly filling up the chairs in a small space that’s been cleared out.

The kids are allowed to sit on the floor, forming a circle around the reader’s chair—big, red, and plushy, obviously shaped after a throne from a book.

Eve makes Harry read her favourite bits from _Midnight Memories_ as they wait, before she finally makes her way over to the other children. Harry waves at her and she waves back excitedly, bopping a little before sitting down.

When the lights dim, Harry’s fairly sure he can hear her squeal over the other children’s excited clapping.

There’s no one on the chair yet when a voice sounds, “I’m going to tell you a little story about Rose, today.” The voice is bright, cheerful, twisted into something ominous that makes the children gasp but makes Harry smile.

“See, Rose was a very special girl,” and although it’s hard to see in the darkened area, it’s obvious that this must be the author stepping up to his throne. “See, what made her so special, was that she was _exactly_ like all other girls.”

Tomlinson sits down, his book in his lap, and although the lights come back on—the reflection catches in his blue eyes as they flicker over the crowd, kids and adults alike—he doesn’t take a look at the pages as he continues talking.

“Rose loved to play outside, as I’m sure all of you do—“ he’s interrupted by the loud “YES”es from his little audience, “she _loved_ to get her clothes dirty—“ and Harry groans, because what Eve’s favourite author says, is _law_ , “and above everything, she loved to swim.

“Rose was a girl that wanted summer _every_ single day, even though she was born in autumn, when there was just _one_ rose left in her mum’s garden. Her mum always told her it was a lot like Snow White, that Rose was named after her pink skin the day she was born, but Rose shook her head and told her mum that it was because her skin was as soft as a rose’s petals.”

Tomlinson takes a quick look around the gaggle of kids, staring up at him, and he asks, “Have any of you ever felt a baby’s skin?”

Eve’s hand raises up into the air hesitantly, along with a couple of other children’s.

“Was it as soft as a rose petal?”

“I don’t know!” most kids shout and Tomlinson gasps.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? You can’t remember what a baby’s skin feels like?”

“I never touched a rose!” several of the kids shout, and Tomlinson pretends to ignore the parents, pretends they aren’t there and won’t hear it when he whispers, “You should go into the garden tonight, then, when your mummy or daddy’s asleep, and feel what it’s like.”

When the kids start to protest, he makes a shocked face, and Harry feels himself as drawn to this man as much as the children are, leaning forward in his own seat as he waits for what’s coming next.

“I know! I know what’s wrong here—you aren’t afraid of not doing what your parents say,” Tomlinson says, “you are afraid of the _dark_.”

The kids all nod, some of them sucking on their thumb while others bite their lips.

“Ah!” the writer shouts out, “And that’s what makes Rose _extra_ special! She isn’t afraid of the dark, and in this book, she shows you why you shouldn’t be either!”

For a moment, Tomlinson looks up at the parents, grinning, and then he opens his book and shows the pictures to the children. There’s the story on one page, and there is a picture on the other side, and from what Harry sees it’s one of those search-and-find things as usual.

He doesn’t follow the entirety of the story after that, the writer’s voice frequently dropping too low for him to hear, but that doesn’t matter. Harry’s more than content to sit and watch him talk to the kids, exuding a kind of energy that makes him seem almost like one of the children themselves—and they obviously love him for it.

Eve’s managed to scoot close enough to touch Tomlinson’s shoe, gaping up as he shows them a new picture, obviously star-struck, and Harry—well, Harry’s honestly a little star struck as well.

He’d always imagined the writers of children’s books creative, sure, but Harry also figured that a writer was quiet, introverted. Maybe eccentric or downright creepy, even. He’s seen them on television, and he’s heard writers talk about what they like—and maybe it’s because he enjoys reading poetry in his free time, but Louis Tomlinson is _not_ what he expected.

Along with seeming one of the kids, he reads like he’s a parent, although Harry’s fairly certain the man doesn’t have any children by himself. He uses different voices for the characters, and the moment he bursts into song he steals not only the kids’ breaths, but also Harry’s.

That’s when Tomlinson looks up at him, briefly, and grins at Harry.

Harry’s fairly certain he might be swooning. Anyone besides himself that can make his daughter sit still and listen for longer than ten minutes, makes Harry into a very happy man.

And maybe, just maybe, Louis suits his type quite well, looks-wise and personality wise from what he can see. Someone who’s as fond of children as Harry is, something exciting and bubbly and happy, and with a gorgeous singing voice; someone with bright, interested eyes that make Harry feel like the time stopped—

So yeah, he _is_ swooning.

He’s a little disappointed when Tomlinson stops his little performance after thirty minutes. He didn’t finish reading all of the book—“I don’t want to spoil the endings for your parents!” even though the children promise they can keep quiet—and then Eve is coming skipping back to him.

“That was amazing,” she says, eyes big and shiny, and Harry laughs.

“It really was, wasn’t it?” and he means it.

Then she launches into a detailed description of _everything_ the story was about, and Harry pretends to be interested and—really, he would’ve been, but Tomlinson is so _pretty_ and he feels a bit awful about getting distracted by a man when his daughter is talking to him.

When she’s done, still catching her breath, he tells her, “Now, should we get your book signed and buy the new book?”

“ _Yes!”_ Eve shouts, and Harry smirks. The queue is in a different section of the shop and by all means pretty short, so there are only two people waiting in front of them. Harry’s not quite sure if Eve would’ve been able to wait any longer, either.

“But you won’t get to read it until your birthday!” he adds, and then Eve’s running up to the table.

“Hello, miss,” Tomlinson says, extending his hand. “I’m Louis, what’s your name?”

“Eve,” she grins, ignoring Louis’ hand and shoving her copy of _Midnight Memories_ onto the autographs table. “I love love love _love_ your books loads!”

Harry keeps his distance a little, even though Louis’ eyes keep flickering up at him. It makes him feel ever so slightly flustered, but he wants his daughter to take her time with her favourite author—it’ll be a moment she’s going to remember the rest of her life, he’s sure of it, and he doesn’t want to spoil that.

“Is that so?” Louis smiles fondly, as he signs the book with something Harry can’t read from where he’s standing. It’s not just an autograph or “To Eve” though, because it takes too long, and suddenly even _he_ ’s curious what it says. “Which one’s your favourite?”

“This one!” she giggles, “because my name is Eve, like evening, and the book is about midnight which is like evening so it is a book about me!”

Louis snorts at that, and although he cleverly disguises it as a cough, Harry’s caught him. Eve seems to notice nothing.

“Did your daddy tell you that?” he smirks then, and Harry raises his eyebrows, jaw dropping.

Eve, of course, the little traitor, nods wildly. “And do you want to come to my birthday?” she asks him then, much to Harry’s horror.

“When is your birthday?” Louis asks, now just smiling again.

“Next week! On—daddy which day was it again?”

“Wednesday,” Harry shrugs, still feeling mortified by the course of events. He steps forward a little though, because Louis has a magnetic pull to him that definitely did not only affect Eve, during the reading.

“Well, your daddy seemed to like the book a whole lot too—“ and then he’s looking straight up at Harry, a glint in his eyes that Harry recognises (from spending so much time with his kid and her friends) as nothing but trouble, “I’ve seen the way you looked at me when I was reading the kids, sir.”

“Harry,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “My name’s Harry.”

“Well, Harold,” Louis shifts in his seat and then procures a slip of paper. He opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something, then looks at Eve and gestures for Harry to come closer. To Eve he says, “You are going to have to cover your ears, little miss, because this is about your party.”

Then he whispers in Harry’s ear, “You’re single, right?” Harry nods, and then Louis’ lips brush the shell of his ear, which is innocent enough to be taken for an accident but it’s enough to make him blush, “Well then, give me your number and I’ll call you. You know, so I can drop by to read to Eve.”

Then his eyes flicker down to Harry’s lips, and Harry quickly looks around to check whether Eve’s seen it but she’s busy talking to the boy behind them in line, “And maybe I can read something to you later.”

Harry nods, feeling a little shaky as he stands up straight again. Louis has put on an innocent front again, and says, “Eve, Eve?” so Harry puts his hand on his daughter’s shoulder to get her attention.

“How about I’ll bring you the new book to your party next week? So you can tell everyone you got it from the writer?”

Eve, of course, nods excitedly, and then someone’s stepping up to them, telling them to move it along. The queue behind them’s been steadily growing, but Harry still manages to glare at Louis as he walks away. He’d known _exactly_ what he was doing when he told Eve that he’ll bring the book, knowing that it would break Harry’s daughter’s heart if he _didn’t_ show up.

“I’ll call you!” Louis mouths with a smirk.

And honestly. Harry’s read all of Louis’ books, there’s a reason why he won’t read the 8+ books to Eve and it’s not so much the age restriction as the absolute mischievousness of the characters.

He shouldn’t be surprised by Louis’ actions at all.

Well. At least it’s a good surprise.

-

(The next week, when Louis shows up on Harry’s doorstep, he’s got a book for Eve and pushes a rose into Harry’s hands before she sees it.

Louis is the one who ends up reading Eve to sleep, while Harry cleans up the living room, and then spends the rest of the evening with Harry on the couch, and the remainder of the night thereafter in Harry’s bed.

It feels like Louis has wormed himself into Harry’s heart, and Harry’s glad that his own daughter had sold her heart to this absolute _devil_ of a man—who does read her the other books seemingly without any feelings of shame or guilt—years ago, when Harry’d first read her _Midnight Memories_.

After all, otherwise he’d never have met the love of his life.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hanging out on tumblr as [nobetterbumthantomlinson](http://nobetterbumthantomlinson.tumblr.com/)! x


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